


A Partner Thing

by rispacooper



Category: Psych
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Handcuffs, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Addressing the subject of sexual tension between partners; or, whenever I make them hostages, Jules and Lassie bond and get freaky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Partner Thing

She couldn't see Lassiter, though from where she'd been positioned, Juliet could see the face of the digital clock as it ticked away. McClintock had made sure it was within her line of sight, the same way that he'd made sure to drop the keys to their cuffs into her lap—just where they wouldn't do any good.

“In case your psychic manages to find you in time,” he'd declared, laughing like a villain from Captain Planet and Juliet had hated that show. And to be honest, she was getting a little sick of criminals threatening her just to get at Shawn, something she would have said at the time if Carlton hadn't spoken up first, shouting from across the room.

“I'm going to enjoy shooting you, McClintock,” he'd promised, possibly meaning it. No one else handcuffed to a rope binding barrels of explosives together would have sounded that pissed off, and Juliet had had another moment of pride in her partner.

Of course, Carlton had ruined it by adding, “...and he's not _our_ psychic...” but it really had been impressive until then. She'd been through enough of these near-death experiences now to cut Carlton some slack, and after all, they were in this situation because of Shawn.

Well, because of the psychotic bad guy who thought he was the Doc Ock to Shawn's Spiderman, which made her Mary Jane—the _movie_ Mary Jane, the _screaming_ Mary Jane—and Mary Jane didn't even have a gun. Juliet hated that Mary Jane too. Though then who was Carlton? With his salt-and-pepper hair he could have been J. Jonah Jameson, but maybe he was also the movie MJ, since he was here right along with her, no rushing in to the rescue. That was annoying; they were really good at rescues.

“I am really getting tired of this crap.” She tried a joke at the thought, because she wasn't a _thing_ like MJ, and because, damn it, Shawn's Spidey Sense had _better_ be tingling.

Now they were counting on either Carlton breaking those ropes holding him or Shawn and Gus bursting in to free them, and though she was holding out hope...she looked at the clock.

Three hours. Three hours until she and Carlton and half the Marina were shrapnel. She shuddered and was suddenly grateful that she'd never gotten a cat, so that no one would have to take care of it if she died. Though she personally thought Lassiter could have used one, or maybe a bouncy little puppy, but when she'd suggested it once he'd first snapped that there was no point in owning pets because they only grew old and died, and then at her shocked gasp, muttered that he'd always wanted a pet and his mother had always said no and anyway he didn't know what to do with a pet, now leave him alone.

At the time, she'd considered it a victory. Sort of. Carlton was not only starting to talk to her, but he was _listening_ to her too. Sometimes. If she caught him in the right mood. Or was insistent enough. And unlike when anyone else did it, he never seemed to resent her for it afterward. She looked toward him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could _just_ see Carlton moving. He was also handcuffed with his hands behind him, though while she'd been shoved onto the floor and against a wooden support beam, Carlton was on his knees and wedged against about ten barrels of highly explosive material.

“When I see Spencer...” he puffed as he worked. Juliet frowned, though it _had_ been Shawn's vision that had led them out here late last night. The sky was starting to get lighter through the high window. She wished McClintock had left that window open; the chemical smell was almost overwhelming.

She stared at the clock, then licked her lips. She had to keep Carlton calm, or he'd have a stroke. It was one of her unofficial jobs as his partner.

“He'll find us.” It wasn't hard to say. But... “How are those ropes coming?” They had looked solid and heavy, ropes meant for work on boats that weren't going to shred easily, much less because of the blunted edges of handcuffs.

Carlton swore, but the husky fury in his voice was familiar, and reassuring for that reason. It meant he hadn't given up yet either, and if anyone was going to tear through ropes with cuffs, it was a Carlton who wanted to get his hands on Shawn.

“When I see Spencer...” Carlton panted again, and Juliet shut her eyes for a moment, imagining the unleashed rage in Carlton's body, the built up frustration and fear in his hands as he shoved Shawn to wall, shoulders back, faces close, breathing heavy. Everything Carlton had—barely—been holding back for hours would come out and it should have been frightening, but it wasn't. Lassiter would never hurt anyone. She didn't think Shawn had ever been afraid and neither had she, though she had occasionally interfered, putting herself between them.

He was her friend, yes, but she hadn't wanted Lassiter to do anything stupid. He never seemed to know what he was doing around Shawn, and she wanted him to know she had his back. The way he had hers. None of which meant anything however, unless they got the hell out of here.

Her shoulders ached, her body was tense, numb and too hot at once. Her heart thumped against her ribs as her partner cursed again, and she opened her eyes.

“Son of a bitch!”

She tried to move her legs, though there wasn't much she could do but spread them, then scoot up to try to ease the pressure at her back and inside her arms. She would have bruises tomorrow.

Her own cuffs. She scowled.

“Hurry up, Carlton,” she barked. Licking her lips didn't do any good when her mouth was dry. “You aren't the only one who wants to go home.”

“...Junior partner...” She heard him grumble, but his movements seemed to increase in energy, though he had to be getting tired. Any other time she would have smiled. She refused to think that Shawn and Gus wouldn't find them, but...

There was sweat prickling under her arms. Sweat made Carlton irritable—more irritable. Juliet listened to him grunting for another minute, then reclosed her eyes. “It'll all be okay,” she said softly. Carlton snorted but didn't answer. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or worried at that, though she was aware that he should be honest with her, even if she didn't want to hear it. It was a partner thing. But no, he was holding back again. How are they supposed to rely on each other if he wasn't being honest?

That's it. She made him Gwen Stacy just out of spite. He could just deal with it.

She spent a few minutes mentally considering telling him that, then tried to think of rescue and someplace cool, but then Carlton gave a heavy, satisfied grunt, and her mouth fell open at the sound

“That's it, come to daddy,” Carlton purred viciously, his breath coming fast, and Juliet tried to turn her head to see right as he gave one last loud pull and broke free.

Judging from the thump and the low stream of swear words, he fell onto his face. She winced sympathetically.

“Carlton?” She kept the anxiety from her voice—well, most of it, the clock was ticking. Two hours and fifty minutes. They didn't have a lot of wiggle room here. “Carlton!” she snapped when he didn't answer, his name ringing out, her breathing only slowing when she heard him start to move.

“On my way, O'Hara.” True to his word, she heard shuffling and a second later, Carlton himself was inching toward her on his knees.

He was still cuffed, his arms pinned tightly behind his back, spreading his suit jacket wide. There was a mark on his cheek from the floor and he was red in the face and perspiring freely. But it was more shocking to see his hair in disarray and the trace of five o'clock shadow along his jaw.

His appearance said he'd pulled all-night stakeout duty. His expression promised swift and violent retribution for McClintock, Shawn, or anyone else in his way. Juliet sighed. He was fine.

His gaze fixed on her, giving her the same careful once over that she'd just given him, and she saw his slight exhale when he saw she was okay. It kind of reminded her of what her mother often said about worrying for her father, because partnerships were almost deeper a marriage, had to be, with life and death on the table everyday, even if they never talked about it.

“O'Hara...”

“I'm fine,” she insisted, not really needing the comfort right now, though it was always unexpected when Carlton showed his gentler side. Nice, in a strange way, vaguely uncomfortable because it made her want to press for more but she knew if she did, he'd pull back again. He was only really comfortable with determination and anger—and most of his anger was reserved for Shawn. Anyway, she had the feeling that if Carlton was nice to her now, she'd want to cry. So for now she'd prefer Head Detective Lassiter, messy and pissed off at being messy.

“Keys.” She tried to nod her head at her lap and lift the keys at the same time, and didn't realize that she'd arched her hips up toward him until he stopped.

The keys dangled just at the edge of her knee-length skirt. Carlton's eyes came up, met hers, then studied the wall.

Juliet felt her face heat, but put on her most Upper Case, This Is Serious, This Is For Justice expression and rolled her eyes.

“Lassiter.”

Carlton worked his jaw, but nodded before slowly turning back to her.

“Just...” She inhaled to calm herself but her heart was pounding and the clock was ticking and she had a crazy urge to giggle. “Just grab the damn keys.”

He'd have to turn if he wanted to use his hands, turn to grope blindly in her lap. She felt hot. Or...or he'd have to use his mouth.

She was definitely blushing. The red in Carlton's face wasn't going away either. She wondered if Batman and Robin had ever had to do this.

“I'll just...” he started, his fury totally gone for a moment, replaced with a startling uncertainty. Juliet did her best to ignore the flutter in her stomach that was definitely not partnership.

“Oh for God's sake, Carlton! Let's get out of here!” She made herself look at him. His eyes were almost too blue, and then he blinked.

His frown intensified, his silence loud, but he nodded. He was at her side; all he had to do was bend down, pick them up, and come around to drop them into her hands. No big deal.

“It's no big deal,” she echoed her own thought—to ease his nerves, she told herself, but felt her eyes widen when Carlton moved back and began to lower his head toward her lap. The back of his head was different somehow, gray and black, catching her attention until she felt the first puff of his hot breath through her skirt.

She jerked and shut her eyes at the sound of the keys hitting the floor. There should have been a “damn it, O'Hara!” or a “look what you've done, you idiot!” or, okay, not _that_ harsh because Lassiter didn't yell at her quite the same way he yelled at others. It was because they were partners, she knew that, and maybe because she was a woman, but not for the first time she wished he'd take her seriously, lay into her the way he did to Shawn when Shawn messed up.

She didn't always deserve it, but she would have right now, and a furious Carlton snarling at her wouldn't have been nearly as awkward as a silent, red-faced one who wouldn't look directly at her.

“Oh my God, I'm sorry.” She tried to move herself out of the way as she spoke, though she really couldn't shift more than an inch to either side. She could sit up a little more, bend her knees, and hope Carlton could still reach the keys.

Of course...

This time, when Carlton's gaze came up, she studied the clock. Imminent death, she reminded herself. She could deal with Carlton's head between her legs for that—with _her partner's_ head between her legs for that, and hope that all her idle, sometimes, when she was bored or couldn't help it, fantasies wouldn't come back to haunt her.

She heard him swallow and felt a spark of irritation that she'd have to talk him through _this_ too, though partnership was supposed to be about give and take. Just once she'd like to see a lack of hesitation in the men around her, that they'd all just go for it or not bother, but she felt guilty a second later for the thought and breathed in deeply.

“It's nothing.” She had to give him permission, she knew that, and even with that they weren't going to be able to look at each other for a few days. But they'd be alive, that was the important thing. If they could die for each other than they could do this for each other too.

She set her jaw just like Carlton did before he turned on the siren in the car, and put every bit of force she possessed into the words. “Do it.”

He wasn't trying to argue, that was something. She had a fleeting memory of Carlton chasing after the Chief's sister, and how the same shudder had carried through his body then, and then she was distracted by his movements as he slowly came around to kneel in front of her. Her breathing picked up despite herself.

“You're ruining your suit,” she commented lightly, her voice rising when the fabric of that suit brushed her bare calves. This was just one of those things between partners, she repeated to herself. Just partners, on the job.

“Things that happen in life and death situations don't mean anything later,” Carlton grunted, trying to reassure _her_ and Juliet scowled and let him draw her eyes.

Carlton was...kneeling between her legs. He was solid, and hot, and she should have worn a longer skirt because her legs suddenly felt too bare, and weak, and Carlton was _kneeling between her legs_. His shoulders were broad and his eyes were surprisingly serious, like he had a plan, or a job to do.

Nothing and no one was more determined when they had a job to do.

Juliet had to fight to breathe normally and keep her legs from getting obviously shaky.

There were a lot of things she could have said, like how he ought to stop going easy on her, but that would let him know what she was thinking—not to mention make her think about how the opposite of easy was _hard_ —and anyway, her thoughts were just adrenaline, it was the only explanation. Partner boundaries were fluid, but very, very real and that was why she kept these sorts of thoughts in the back of her mind, just like her thoughts of Shawn's mouth on her breasts before she imagined Shawn freaking out and leaving, or that dream she'd had of giving Gus a lap dance, or the memories of that roommate at cheerleading camp with the big...well anyway. Lassiter was supposed to banish them too. And they were supposed to avoid situations that would bring them out like this, no matter how hot it might end up being... _would_ end up being. She tried not to shiver, though yes, this would be hot.

Carlton wasn't bad-looking. In fact he was pretty fit, and most of his suits weren't that bad, whatever Shawn said. But she wasn't going to think about that. Or how he wasn't joking at her expense like some other cops would have done. He looked like a joke was the last thing on his mind.

He'd slept with his last partner, she suddenly remembered, wanting to sit up though knew she couldn't without arching her breasts. Carlton and his last partner had been lovers.

She tamped down on any stray hysteria and kept her voice level. “Come on, Carlton.” If that had come out husky and inviting, she was sure it was her own imagination.

Carlton breathed through his nose for one more moment.

“The Department sexual harassment policy strictly forbids...”

“Carlton!” Her voice was rough and then broken, his name ending in a shocked breath as his hair brushed the skin by her knees. He was big and awkward for a moment, pushing her thighs apart with his body, and then she slid her legs open without thinking.

Her knees bent, pushing her skirt further up, and Carlton forced out a word that she couldn't make out, but she felt it slip under fabric and brush softly against the satin of her panties.

She had put on a lace-edged, small pink thong yesterday, something to go unnoticed with her skirt, and now Carlton knew that too.

He was frozen for the space of two heartbeats, taking that in, _looking_ , and then he was sneering in a breathless, wound up voice.

“Those regulation, O'Hara?” he wondered tightly, but when she dared to look into his face, his gaze was steady on her thigh.

“Come on, Carlton. You're telling me you don't have a pair just like them at home?” She didn't know her own voice, but she was frankly happy just to have said _anything_. Maybe it had been too long, or it was the danger, but she could feel warmth sinking through her.

Carlton snorted at her joke without answering, and her mouth fell open at the second rush of air. So close. It was light, but she felt heavy between her legs, turned on... by _Carlton_ and she couldn't stop staring. His hair was black and gray, his ears sticking out, his suit very dark against her rumpled blue one, and she could see the line of tension in his shoulders as he held himself up.

He _was_ strong, she recognized, muscular under his dress shirt and she shifted, arching her back anyway. Carlton's muscles had to be aching, exhausted, and yet there he was, on his knees, for her. She lifted her head, wished she could rub her legs together, or just move to wrap him...no.

“Hurry up.” She wasn't pleading, but her voice was sticky, as heated as her skin. He turned and his hair was startlingly soft. She could feel the muscles in her thighs quivering as she tried to keep still, and wondered if he could feel that too as he lowered his head once again.

She hitched her hips up at the thought, flushed all over again at the reflex—purely reflex—and how he knew. He had to know after that. She wanted to giggle again, thought about moaning, settled for biting her lip and frowning and not saying a thing. She had a sudden hunger for Spiderman comics featuring J. Jonah Jameson's expressions of outrage.

Carlton _had_ to know. His breathing was loud, ragged, as warm as hands under her skirt, and no, no she was _not_ picturing Carlton's hands slipping under her skirt, tangling in her panties to pull them down, and how she'd arch up again and let him. His hands would be calloused, especially his trigger finger, and she wanted to feel that. Right there.

The keys clattered back to the ground as Carlton tried, and failed, to get down low enough to pick them up, and he muttered something. Juliet twitched, tried to think about the Hobgoblin instead. The curse had been muffled, as though Carlton's mouth had been full, and Juliet wanted desperately to wet her mouth. It was the only part of her that still seemed dry. She was damp with sweat and hot in a way that Carlton's rumblings were only increasing.

Blood pounded in her ears, at her wrists, heavy between her legs, and then Carlton turned his head, breathing fast and sending warm, wet air over her inner thigh.

She couldn't help it, she gasped. Carlton froze again, but it was so much worse this time, breath and strength and the hard line of his jaw so close.

She stayed in shape. She wondered if he liked her body, if he compared her to his ex-partner, if he was _really_ having a difficult time with those keys. But mostly she wondered what his mouth would feel like against lace-edged pink satin. No amount of comics were going to banish that thought. Carlton frowning with determination but his mouth open on her cunt—not the nicest word, or at least, not one her mother approved of, but no other word would do, and at the moment, Juliet couldn't make herself care.

His hands would push her skirt up to her hips and his fingers would pull her underwear down, and then he'd slip closer to exhale over her swollen, wet, aroused _cunt_ and it would be unbearably tense and she would shift and moan and that would make him _gentle_ until her hands would slide into that surprisingly soft hair and draw him down.

Carlton would _live_ to make her happy.

She was _aching_ , throbbing, and tossed her head to keep from pushing up toward him. His mouth was open, she could just feel it against her leg before he moved, and she watched as he inhaled, as he _smelled_ her, and his back went straight and taut.

She should have been embarrassed, and was, but at the moment all she could think about was his mouth, and his hands, and if he were free and she were still cuffed, if he'd stop to free her too first or if he'd just take her right here, slide her to her feet and leave her against the beam as lifted her up, or what it would feel like with his tongue inside her and those hands sliding under her ass instead. If he would groan like he did for his first sip of coffee and then lick his lips.

Screw hot, it would be _mind-blowing_.

“O'Hara,” Carlton panted hoarsely, and shuddered, as though the scent had him thinking the same things.

He'd dated his last partner, had crossed that partner boundary to date her, Juliet thought again, not as shocked as she should have been. But then he'd lost her. She'd never asked about it, how that had happened, if he'd loved her, if he regretted it, and that was why he held back so much from her, or if that was because of something else. He'd been hurt, she knew that much.

She tore her gaze from the back of his head.

Carlton was waiting for her, her word, because they were partners, and he trusted her.

She could make him call her Juliet, she realized for one stupid moment. _Juliet_ , and he'd pin her to the bed the way he threw himself at Shawn, and if the name Juliet was gentle, the sex would be fierce, almost rough. She was pounding inside her panties and Carlton knew it, and even if he couldn't use his hands, he could suck her through the lace.

He would if she asked, told him to. And he'd call her Juliet. Even now.

But she didn't want that. She didn't want to lose her partner or her career, and even if she did, she didn't want to lose them for someone she had to order around. She wanted someone who couldn't hold back for her, who wouldn't even _try_. And she'd never want that for him either.

She shook, hard, and made herself stare at the clock. It had the same green light as her alarm clock at home, and that was what she'd been looking at tonight when she was safe at home and they weren't about to die and she was alone and sliding her own panties down to touch herself .

She was going to come so hard they'd feel it back in Miami. She'd think of this, get it out of her system like leftover adrenaline, and then they'd be fine.

She tossed her head again and ignored the sharp ache between her legs, the need, and Carlton finally started to move again, taking her silence for what it was, and at last getting the keys between his teeth.

He didn't look up and she didn't study his mouth as he crawled away and around the support beam. When he was out of sight, she dropped her head and and brought her legs back down, not crossing them though she wanted to. Any kind of friction would have felt fantastic.

Carlton, she reminded herself. Lassiter. Her partner.

The keys hit her palm and she seized them quickly, swearing a little herself as they slipped in her damp hands. Then the key slid in and the cuffs were open.

The pain of being able to move her arms held her still for another moment, and then Lassiter was snarling at her to get his too, and she was scooting over to fumble his cuffs off.

He flinched away when she reached for his reddened, raw wrists. It made her look away too, look down when she shouldn't have, and she sucked in a breath. Carlton was in a similar situation, unmistakably outlined against his pants. And she...she hadn't expected him to be so...

Words sprang to mind. Plentiful. Impressive. Endowed. Then she gulped and turned away.

She'd always thought with his love of guns that the opposite would be true. For another moment, she considered restarting something, letting it happen. Then she shook herself.

“That regulation?” she asked, her throat very dry, and his eyes narrowed. Then he stood up, his knees creaking as he stumbled over to study the detonation device. She stood too, on legs just as wobbly, adjusting her skirt, her hair, letting her pulse slow before she stepped over to check the door, only to immediately fall back as it was flung open and Shawn and Gus stared back at her.

They were both, inexplicably, wearing Navy uniforms. Shawn's was too big for him. Gus' too tight. Then Lassiter exclaimed, “Son of a _bitch_ , Spencer!” and Shawn took that as an invitation to push his way in, Gus following behind him only to see the bomb and wisely step back out.

When Shawn's gaze hit her she tugged on her skirt, though it was safely back at her knees. Shawn blinked anyway, then swung around to stare—glare—at Lassiter. Juliet looked too, in time to catch Carlton very obviously _not_ pulling at his pants.

She opened her mouth right as he did, but it was too late.

“What the hell kind of vision was that, Spencer? And what are you wearing? I don't think our men in uniform need you to mock them too! Thanks to you McClintock probably got away!” Carlton reached out, poked a finger into Shawn's chest and had him against the barrels as though he didn't care that he was risking an explosion.

Shawn was opened-mouthed and shocked, and practically spread-eagled under Carlton and for a moment Juliet saw Carlton's hands again, sliding under Shawn's hips and ass, lifting him up, saw Carlton on his knees again, his mouth over Shawn's crotch, living to make him happy.

She gasped and turned away, certain she was out of her mind. Danger, she remembered. Job to do. Avert any and all explosions.

Shawn wasn't moving away, though his expression was lost, his mouth soft, his eyes dark and angry. She couldn't tell what that meant, couldn't think about it, except to note that even in her fantasies Shawn always ran, and he wasn't running now.

“McClintock is already taken care of,” Gus pointed out from the doorway, while Juliet was still frowning and Shawn was staring at Lassiter. When she moved, Shawn's eyes came back to her. He flashed her a wide, fake smile and she spared him a frown. Maybe it was because she'd recently seen a man at his weakest, but she was starting to wonder if they were all this obvious and she'd only missed it until now.

She also wondered if Shawn would hesitate with Lassiter between his legs without really asking herself why. Worrying about why was for later, along with everything else. Her bed. Her hand. Later, when she had time to wonder if Carlton would have licked her through her panties until they were a see-through mess and her thighs were trembling, if he wanted to do the same to Shawn—without the panties of course, maybe—and if he knew if that he did.

She glanced at Lassiter, watched him glare at Shawn with every moment of frustration from the past few hours, the last few minutes, playing out in his face for Shawn to see. Then she straightened her shoulders. Shawn was her friend, but Carlton was her partner.

“Carlton,” she called him back from the edge, because it was her job, and because Carlton had a lot of frustration at the moment and that was partly her fault, and she didn't take her eyes away until Carlton looked at her. He was scowling over the color in his cheeks, his eyes were very blue. But he nodded, pink all over, and then he stepped back.

“We need bomb squad down here, now. And we'll have to clear the docks!” His voice was hoarse, dry, and Juliet took a step toward him, ignoring the lingering need that was making her feel hollow and had her unsteady. When she reached his side, Carlton nodded again and straightened. “Guster, cell phone,” he ordered, not even glancing at Shawn, and Shawn made a strangled noise that made Carlton blanch.

Juliet gave Shawn a hard stare. She didn't need him confusing her partner right now. That was also for later. This was life and death. This was about them, and anyway, things that happened in life and death situations didn't mean anything later. Everyone knew that.

She grabbed Gus' phone before Carlton could and stepped forward so Carlton would follow her.

“I'll call it in, you work on getting everyone out of here.”

Carlton opened his mouth, looked pissed, and then bit back what he'd been going to say.

“Hey, wait,” Shawn piped in and they both turned to him at the same time.

“Civilians off the docks, now!” they snapped together, then exchanged a pleased—if quick and slightly uncomfortable—grin. She sighed internally; they were going to be okay. Better than okay, if she had her way. Best partners ever. She loved her job and she loved her partner, and she wouldn't trade them for anything.

“Hey, Chief,” she turned to the phone a moment later, pointing at Carlton when he didn't move. “Carlton, clear the Marina,” she ordered, and didn't stop glaring until he did what she said. Then she pointed at Shawn too. Then Gus.

Of course, sometimes she didn't mind ordering men around either.


End file.
